Thanks again to all reviewers! Getting a new review always makes my day!

Chapter 5

Harry went down to breakfast the next morning to find several students gathered around Hermione and her copy of the Daily Prophet, all with sombre looks on their faces. "What happened?" Harry asked quietly.

"It's Lord Voldemort," Hermione answered, ignoring the gasps resulting from her use of the Dark Lord's name. "He raided Azkaban and released all the Death Eaters there, along with several other prisoners. We think those must have been the ones who agreed to join him. The rest of the prisoners were Kissed by the dementors. When the aurors arrived, they were outnumbered three to one, and all twenty of them were tortured and killed."

Harry gave Hermione a comforting hug, although it was really a pretence so that he could get close enough to whisper in her ear. "Was it anyone we knew?"

"Kingsley and Hestia," Hermione whispered back before releasing Harry from the hug.

That must be what Tom had meant last night. Outwardly, Harry looked furious, and he viciously stabbed at his kippers without eating a bite. Inwardly, Harry was sad that it had to happen, but really, it could all stop if people would just see reason and give Tom what he wanted.

Harry managed to maintain his façade of outrage most of the day, even yelling at other students who dared to look cheerful around him. It wasn't a reasonable thing to do, after all, they hadn't known any of the aurors involved, but it was in keeping with what Harry Potter would normally do. And his bad mood would give him an excuse for solitude, which he would need to retrieve the Horcrux.

After the morning's Defence and Charms class, when Ron and Hermione were headed to lunch, Harry quietly told them that he wanted to be alone for a while, and that he'd go to the kitchens for something to eat during the afternoon free period. His friends seemed to buy the excuse, as they shared a knowing glance between them, and Ron said "Sure thing, mate. We'll catch up with you later." Harry watched long enough to be sure they were actually going to the Great Hall, then turned and headed for the Room of Requirement. When he arrived in the hallway, he walked back and forth three times, thinking "I need to find Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem." The door to the Room appeared, and Harry went in. "I need the room to be private," he thought, and watched as the door disappeared. Then he looked around at the Room.

Apparently the Room of Requirement was a popular place for hiding illicit materials. Harry saw some empty sherry bottles that he was fairly certain belonged to Professor Trelawney, some muggle cigarettes, and some objects that reeked of darkness. It was an absolutely huge room, and every inch of it was covered with objects hidden by a thousand years worth of Hogwarts students. It was a muggle archaeologist's dream come true. But Harry wasn't interested in the history that could be uncovered in this room. He was looking for one particular object, and it seemed like it could take days, weeks even, to find it.

Then he frowned slightly as he thought of something. This Horcrux had a piece of Tom's soul in it. Harry's scar had always reacted to the presence of Lord Voldemort, and the Horcrux was a part of Lord Voldemort. Idly, Harry wondered why his scar no longer pained him when he was in the man's presence. Actually, it tingled rather pleasantly. Well, whatever the reason, Harry was grateful. He concentrated on his scar, and was not surprised to find that he could feel a very faint tingle there. He moved to the right, and the tingle grew fainter. So he turned back and moved to the left, and sure enough, the tingle grew stronger. He used this method of "hot and cold" until the tingle grew almost as strong as it did when he was next to Tom, and looked down to see the diadem resting atop an old ugly bust. "Kreacher!" Harry bellowed.

Almost instantly, the grotesque house elf appeared at Harry's side. "What is Master wanting? Filthy half blood that he is."

"I have a job for you, Kreacher, and it is very important."

"Kreacher is doing whatever Master asks, the unworthy scum," the elf said resentfully.

Harry picked up the diadem and handed it to Kreacher. "Take this to Lord Voldemort," he said. "And do not let anyone see you go or leave. Never speak of this to anyone. Keep it an absolute secret."

Kreacher's eyes widened, and he said, "Kreacher is doing what Master says," but this time quietly, and almost respectfully. "Is Master wanting Kreacher to return when he is finished?"

"No. Return to the kitchens when you are finished. I have my own way of knowing whether or not you have done as I asked."

Kreacher bowed, then disappeared with a crack.

About three minutes later, Harry felt through his scar that Tom was exceedingly pleased.

Harry left the Gryffindor common room for his meeting with Dumbledore at a quarter to 7:00. It probably wouldn't take him fifteen minutes to get to the Headmaster's office, but he wouldn't want to be late, and his nerves couldn't stand waiting any longer. He arrived at the gargoyle that guarded the entrance, and said "Skiving Snackboxes" in a clear voice. The gargoyle moved aside, and Harry stepped onto the moving stair case with no small amount of trepidation.

He was unable to cover his case of nerves entirely, but decided that he could play it off as nervousness about his ultimate task, the destruction of the Dark Lord. That was what they were meeting to discuss, after all, and this task would be enough to make anyone nervous, let alone a 16 year old boy who just learned five years ago that magic even existed.

Harry knocked on the door to the office and was bid to enter. He did so quietly, putting a tentative smile on his face.

"Good evening, Harry," the Headmaster greeted. His blue eyes were twinkling behind half-moon glasses.

"Good evening, sir," Harry responded, being careful to avoid meeting the gaze of his Professor, though attempting to do so subtly. He wasn't sure how well he was doing at being subtle. He knew he'd need to learn Occlumency, and soon.

Apparently his subterfuge was working, at least for the time being. "How are you feeling, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, seeming concerned.

"Scared, I guess," Harry muttered, dropping his eyes in a semblance of shame at admitting to such a thing. "I just can't stop thinking about what the prophecy said. I don't want to die, sir," Harry said softly.

"Ah, I see. Then you understand now, I hope, my reasons for keeping the prophecy from you for so long."

"Well…yeah, I suppose…but I'm still glad you finally told me. Now that I know, I can at least try to be prepared. Will you be helping me to prepare, sir?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

"So you'll be teaching me more advanced and powerful spells?" Harry asked, trying to seem hopeful but still diffident.

"No. Lord Voldemort, to be frank, is far more experienced than you are. In a contest decided simply by magical skill and power, you would come off second best. He has had almost sixty years—forty-five, I suppose, since we can hardly count the years he spent as a bodiless spirit—to study magic, and he has taken measures that no decent wizard would ever consider to ensure his own power. You do not have the time to catch up, as it were, and so we will not even attempt it. Instead, we will be examining the life of Lord Voldemort, a retrospective, if you will. In examining his past, we may learn of his weaknesses, and thus find the way to destroy him."

"If I'm not strong enough or experienced enough to defeat him, sir," Harry said, trying to keep his anger out of his voice, "then how can I ever hope to complete this task?"

"Do not fall into the same trap the young Tom Riddle did, Harry. Do not assume that magical power is the only thing that matters in the world. There are things Tom Riddle has never understood, and has therefore always discounted. These are the tools you can use to defeat him, and already have used in your past victories."

"I understand, sir," Harry said meekly, though inside he was feeling anything but meek. True, he hadn't been the best student in the past, and he probably could be a lot more advanced now if he had put more effort into his studies, but he was trying now, which Dumbledore had to be aware of, being the Headmaster and all. Did Dumbledore think Harry would be able to defeat Lord Voldemort with an 'Expelliarmus' and some blind luck? And except for the incident in Godric's Hollow, Harry wouldn't exactly call his encounters with Voldemort 'victories.' They were generally stalemates, at best. And the time when he was one year old hadn't been his own effort, it had been entirely because of his mother.

"Good," said Dumbledore, interrupting Harry's thoughts. "Have you told anyone else about the prophecy?"

"No one, sir," Harry replied quietly. "I thought the fewer people who knew, the better."

"A wise decision, in general. However, should you wish to unburden yourself to a younger pair of ears, I believe Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley would be trustworthy.

Now, I believe you will recognize this?" Dumbledore asked, pulling a stone basin etched with runes from a cupboard.

"Yes, sir. It's a Pensieve."

"Very good, Harry. We will be making use of this device to examine the memories of some of Tom Riddle's associates, thus giving us a picture of Lord Voldemort's formative years."

They were going to look at old memories to discover how a small boy had become the darkest wizard in history. Harry rather thought this would be something to leave to the historians when the war was over. Did it matter why Tom Riddle had become Lord Voldemort? He was what he was, and Harry's presumed task was to stop him. Had Harry still been planning on killing Voldemort, he would likely have said something, but as it was, he was content to let Dumbledore have his way. So "yes, sir," was all he said.

"We will begin with a memory I obtained from a muggle named Amy Benson. She lived at the same orphanage as Tom Riddle when she was a child. This memory happened when they were both eight years old." With that, Dumbledore uncapped a small vial, and poured the contents into the Pensieve. "After you, Harry," he said.

Harry pushed his head forward into the Pensieve and entered a rather dismal scene. He was standing next to a small girl with blond hair and blue eyes, who was peering out from a hidden spot behind a curtain. She was looking out on a large room in a grey walled cement building. Mould covered the walls, and the floor was unrelieved concrete. The room held twenty beds, ten on each side of the room with a small aisle in the middle. The beds each had a dingy mattress, if a pad about 4 inches thick could really be called a mattress. Each bed also had a small pillow and a thin, moth-eaten blanket. At the foot of every bed was a small trunk with the name of the child who owned it. Harry easily spotted the trunk marked "Tom Riddle," and the boy who owned the trunk sitting on his bed. The young Tom Riddle was an adorable child, and in looking at the boy one could easily see the handsome man he would become. He was dressed in a cotton pair of trousers and a wool jumper, both garments somewhat threadbare, and his clothing did not seem sufficient for the December chill in the air.

Tom glanced out the window, and Harry went to see what Tom was looking at. The room must have been on the second floor of the building, as Tom was looking down at the play yard. He watched as children of various ages, all dressed as shabbily as Tom, ran around playing various games, shouting and laughing happily. Tom snorted angrily, then turned away from the window. While Tom was looking out the window, the girl had come out from behind the curtain and walked over to the bed.

"Hi, Tom. What are you looking at?" she said, batting her eyelashes.

"What are you doing here, Amy?" Tom asked sharply.

"I just saw you looking out the window from downstairs. You looked so sad, and I thought you might want to come outside and play with us," she said sweetly.

Harry noticed, though, that the girl's smile did not seem to reach her eyes, and her saccharine tone reminded him of Professor Umbridge.

Tom also seemed to have doubts about the girl's sincerity. "Go away!" he yelled. "As if I'd ever want to play with any of you! You're all idiots!" And the girl was pushed to the floor, as if she had been shoved by an invisible pair of hands. She was pinned to the ground, unable to move. Tom looked over to a bed and a trunk marked "Amy Benson." Apparently girls and boys all slept in the same room in this orphanage. Tom went over to Amy's trunk and opened it. He pulled out a somewhat battered, but obviously expensive porcelain doll. The girl, seeing Tom's action, started sobbing hysterically and yelling "No! Please Tom, don't!" But she was still unable to move from the floor.

Harry guessed that the doll must be a relic from the girl's life before coming to the orphanage. Tom seemed to pause to think for a moment, then chuckled, a laugh without any hint of mirth in it. He held the doll up high above his head, then slammed it head first into the floor. The doll's head shattered with far more force than could have resulted from the impact with the floor, indicating that Tom's accidental magic was at work again. The doll's lacy dress then caught fire and burned to ash. The girl continued screaming. Tom looked in satisfaction at the remains of the doll. The combined force of the blow and Tom's magic had reduced most of the doll to porcelain powder, and the only piece of it that was still recognizable was one of the glass eyes. Tom smiled, picked up the eye, and put it in his pocket. Then he turned to Amy, who was still held motionless to the floor. "You will not tell anyone about this," he said, in a fierce, commanding tone of voice.

"No, never, I promise, I won't tell anyone anything about you ever again!" she said. Tom's magic let her go, and she ran out of the room still crying. Tom smiled.

But the look on his face was not one of simple satisfaction. It was one of vindication. As Harry noticed this, he was drawn up and out of the memory.

Dumbledore picked up the small vial and used it to scoop the silvery strands back up out of the Pensieve. He put the cap on the vial, and put the vial away in a cabinet. "Now, Harry," he began. "I should like to hear your impressions of the scene we have just witnessed before I present my own interpretation."

"Well," Harry started, not certain how honest he should be. He decided to be fully honest about his thoughts on the scene. Dumbledore was clever, and he surely would have noticed the same things Harry did, and might guess that Harry was holding something back if he wasn't honest. "I think there was more to what happened than what we just saw."

"What do you mean, Harry?" Dumbledore said, with his eyebrows slightly raised. Apparently that was not what he was expecting Harry to say.

"Well, to start with, Tom looked sad when we first saw him. He reminded me of…well…me, when the kids at muggle school didn't want to be friends with me because of Dudley."

"An interesting observation," Dumbledore said, though his eyes held some disapproval. "Please continue."

"I don't think that girl who talked to him was being honest. I don't think she actually liked Tom at all."

"Really? What led you to this conclusion?"

"She was smiling, and acting nervous, but her eyes and her body language didn't agree with what she was saying. She was looking down at him, like she thought she was better than him."

"Anything else?"

"At the end, Tom didn't really look smug about what he'd done or anything. He just looked like he thought the girl was getting exactly what she deserved."

Dumbledore sighed. "I see. Harry, your compassion and empathy, traits you get directly from your mother, do you credit. But they are wasted in this situation. I showed you this memory to help you harden your heart. I assure you that this scene happened exactly as you have just witnessed it, and that there was nothing more to the incident. Tom Riddle, even from such a tender age, had a heart filled with darkness, and no care at all for his fellow human beings. Even as a child, he had already embarked on the path to becoming who he is today."

Harry wasn't sure he would've accepted this even if he hadn't talked to Tom. He had seen what he had seen, and Tom Riddle's face had been that of a child seeking acceptance and finding only rejection and scorn. Harry knew that face quite well. He should, since it had been the expression he had worn himself for a large part of his life. But he knew protests would be useless. So he just said, "yes, sir."

"Then I do believe it is nearing curfew, and you should now be returning to your dormitory. No doubt Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley are eagerly anticipating hearing of what you learned. You may tell them, but take care to ensure your privacy. I will send you a note to inform you of our next meeting."

"Yes, sir. Goodnight, sir."

"Goodnight, Harry."

Harry left the Headmasters office and headed back toward Gryffindor Tower. He certainly was eager to discuss what he'd seen, but not with Ron and Hermione. Ron would just agree with Dumbledore. Hermione would probably be able to see what Harry had seen, but he would have to explain just how he recognized the look on Tom's face, and he wasn't prepared to talk about his childhood with Hermione. Tom would undoubtedly contact him tonight to discuss the retrieval of the Horcrux and the meeting with Dumbledore, and Harry could discuss the memory with Tom. Harry knew there was more to it than what he had seen, and he really wanted to find out what else had happened. He entered the portrait hole and walked over to where Ron and Hermione were sitting in armchairs by the fire, looking anxious to hear what he had to say.

"Hi Harry," Hermione said. "How was your meeting? What is Professor Dumbledore teaching you? Or can you tell us?"

"He's teaching me about Lord Voldemort—Tom Riddle's past."

"What?" said Ron. "How is that supposed to help you?"

"Oh, hush Ron!" Hermione said. "Of course it will help. You can't defeat an enemy you don't understand, after all, and this way Harry will understand Lord Voldemort's mind, and be able to predict his actions."

Harry thought both of his friends had points, and also that Hermione's explanation of why he should study Voldemort's past was far more reasonable than Dumbledore's had been.

"He's using a Pensieve to show me people's memories of Voldemort when he was still Tom Riddle. Tonight I saw a memory of him when he was five years old."

"What happened, then?" Ron said bluntly.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I don't think I'm ready to talk about it right now. I need some time to think about it first. Actually, I think I just want to go to bed."

Ron looked like he wanted to protest, but a glare from Hermione silenced him. "Of course, we understand, don't we Ronald?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem, mate," Ron said, with a horribly forced smile.

"Thanks guys," Harry said, smiling at Hermione. "I'll see you in the morning, and we'll talk about it tomorrow. With that, Harry went up the stairs to the dormitory, got ready for bed, and went to sleep.

A few minutes later, he was in Tom's study, and Tom was smiling brilliantly at him.

"I am certain you are already aware of this, but I received the Horcrux this afternoon. Incidentally, I do not think you will have any further problems with the elf failing to show you proper respect."

"Oh. I might actually have to talk to him about that. If anyone saw him obeying me and not insulting me, they would wonder why. He's under orders not to say anything, but someone could use Veritaserum."

"An excellent point, my little serpent. Now, what exactly is Dumbledore teaching you? Defensive spells? Duelling tactics? Curse-breaking, perhaps?"

"He's not teaching me about magic at all."

"Then what is he teaching you about?"

"You, actually."

Tom looked taken aback. "What is he teaching you about me?"

"He used his Pensieve to show me a scene from your childhood. He says he intends to show me several memories of you so that I can find your weaknesses."

"I see. So, what did you see first in your introduction to the life of Tom Riddle?"

"A memory of you at the orphanage. You were eight years old." Harry explained the memory he'd seen, as well as Dumbledore's explanation of it, and his own perceptions.

"I think that girl must have done something to deserve what you did to her," Harry finished quietly.

Lord Voldemort was surprised. Harry spoke with the air of someone who knew firsthand what it was like to have a childhood where no one liked you, and people blamed you for everything that went wrong. "Amy Benson," he replied slowly, "was the Princess of the orphanage. She came to the orphanage when she was six years old, after losing her parents to typhoid fever. Her family had been very wealthy, and she was used to having everything her own way. The matrons all thought she was adorable, and so sweet and polite. They never noticed anything she did wrong, or they found some way to blame it on me." He stopped for a moment to take a sip of his drink. "Before she came to the orphanage, I was the most popular child there. I was always the first one chosen for sports teams, and the centre of attention. When she arrived, she decided I was competition. She started telling all the other children that I was a freak. She told the matrons that she saw me doing things I wasn't supposed to. Gradually, the children all came to her side, and I was no longer welcome. When she came upstairs, it was to mock me. I later found out that had I come outside with her, I would have been pelted with rotten eggs."

Harry nodded. He knew exactly what that felt like. When he was six years old, Dudley had invited Harry to come outside and play with him and his gang. What Harry hadn't known, being less perceptive, or perhaps more gullible, than Tom was that the game they wanted to play was "Harry-hunting."

Tom continued. "That girl made me feel powerless. When I shoved her to the ground, and destroyed her doll, I relished in the feeling of having power and control. I wasn't powerless after all; I was stronger than anyone else. And I knew that I always wanted to be stronger than everyone else. The discovery that I wasn't weak and powerless was the best moment of my life."

"I still feel powerless," Harry muttered quietly.

Tom put his fingers under Harry's chin and pushed Harry's head up, so that Harry was looking straight into his eyes. He smirked, and said, "You, my little serpent, are anything but powerless. I will show you just how powerful you truly are. And then you will show the world, starting with whoever it was who made you doubt your own power."